Paint
by Juliet Spades
Summary: Juliet is worried, George has been in complete mourning for much longer then she expected.


"It's been awhile," I said to the mass sitting in the middle of the room.

The mass shifted its weight to see who was talking to him. When he noticed it was me, he altered his position so he was sitting in the oversized arm chair sideways; his long legs dangling off the right side. In the moonlight, his normally bright red hair set off an eerie dark brown glow. The sheer laughter seemed to have been taken out of his now- dull blue eyes.

"It's been quite a couple of days without you," I sat down on the floor a few feet away, not bothering with the light. "A lot of sales have been going through on joke related items. But the inventory on Dark Magic repelling things have slowed-"

"Jules."

I stopped upon hearing my nickname, hesitating with the last of my sentences. I was never particularly good at the art of speech. I usually just ramble on and on until someone stops me.

"I don't know what to do," George looked into my eyes.

"About what?"

I broke eye contact instantly-- I couldn't stand seeing that much sadness in his eyes- it was the only emotion he'd shown for monthes. We both knew what he meant. He had no idea what to about the shop. Fred had always been the one to take charge in a fiasco, and George was fine with that. He was never as talkative as Fred.

"You know what I mean, Juliet. About the shop, about the merchandise. About my entire life!" he threw his head back to stare at the blank, white ceiling.

"Well, I can tell you one thing, there is no way you can close down this shop," I told him.

"And why not?" only his eyes moved, leaving the ceiling to study my face intricately.

"What would Fred say?" I asked as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

George's expression didn't change. He just stared at the ceiling again, flicking occasional glances at the door, hoping, maybe, I would leave him alone.

He'd been like this ever since Fred died. He'd been avoiding everyone, especially at the funeral. He'd just stood by the coffin and watched his brother's smile. I had been there to see the horror on all the Weasleys' faces when they lowered the coffin into the ground. Harry had Ginny in his arms, whispering what I thought would be comforting thoughts. Everyone seemed to have someone else, except George. George should have had Fred. The two were always inseparable.

And now George was an emotionless robot. I had to do something. Poor Mrs. Weasley must have felt like she lost both of her twin boys.

"Well, anything else?" I asked him.

"No."

He ignored my pleading looks to show something, anything. Maybe even to yell at me, anger was a sign of healing. George wasn't healing.

"Well, what to go get some ice cream or something?" I asked, standing up.

"Not really."

"How about we go and play a quick one on one match of Quidditch?" I suggested.

"Maybe Ron or Harry wants to," he sighed.

"I'm not going to go and bother them. It's 1 A.M."

"Oh. Okay," he mumbled.

"George!" I was exasperated. "Stop this!"

He kept looking at the ceiling.

I gave a little frustrated scream and glared at the ceiling. It was blank and completely utterly tedious. I wish I could paint the ceiling so George would have something to study, and I wouldn't feel like an idiot.

"You aren't an idiot," George said monotonously.

"What?" I glanced at him, a bit thrown off.

"You said that you felt like an idiot. You aren't an idiot," George repeated.

"Oh, did I say that out loud? Because I didn't mean to. I think it might have been a little off. I mean, I knew that Fred was a big deal for you, but he wasn't your whole life. Was he? I feel really selfish for saying this, but, I mean, I'd like to know I had something to do with it, and you're scaring me just laying there. I loved Fred almost as much as you, but do you even care that I'm frightened half to death waiting for you to show signs of anything but complete grief? Do you think I just want you to just waste away? Atrophy is not the best option because-"

"Jules," a shadow covered the light from the moon. "You always talk to much."

I turned bright red. I didn't mean to say half of that. "Sorry."

I could see his mouth twitch in the slightest, showing signs of a possible smile, "no problem. How about we paint the ceiling? That way we have something to look at."


End file.
